Winterlong
by aviddaydreamer
Summary: 6 year old Harry encounters a strange man on the streets of London and irrevocably alters the course of his life. How differently would Harry fare with the support and protection of a true family? How far will Lucius go to keep that family together? AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling. Long live the Queen.

**A/N: Reminder: Harry is born July 31****st****, 1980, so when this story begins in the winter of 1986, Harry is 6 years old.**

**Keep in mind, this is an AU. We don't know what most of these characters were like or how they behaved at this point in the story, so I'm playing around with them a bit. Expect at least a little OOCness.**

Winterlong

Harry James Potter was not much like other children.

Beyond the obvious differences, (the wild, jet-black hair that refused to be tamed by even the most persistent grooming, the shocking, emerald green eyes, almost too large beneath his messy fringe, the tiny frame concealing surprising strength and endurance, and of course, the curious lightning bolt scar on his forehead) Harry's most significant anomalies were all hidden beneath his rather peculiar surface.

Beneath his fair skin and meager frame surged a never-ending current of power. Raw and unmanaged, it burst forth in times of need, sparing Harry from a few of the many indignities life had to offer him. A few, but not all. No, not all by half.

Harry lived with his aunt, uncle and cousin in a modest, boring house in a modest, boring neighborhood. His family, for lack of a better term, abhorred everything Harry, from his unusual appearance to the untamed and unnamed power contained within. He was abused, neglected, unloved and untouched by the three people who made up his world, his life.

He most purposefully did not think on that, alone in his cupboard, counting the spiders that scaled the inverted stairs. He daren't wonder what life might be like for other little boys; boys who didn't make their families recoil in fear or disgust. He wouldn't picture his life with a doting mother, a heroic father. Couldn't close his eyes against the darkness and wish, wish with all his little heart that someday things would be different.

No, Harry knew better than to waste his time on wishes. So he sat, counting the spiders, fingering the jagged scar adorning his head, and waited. He daren't think just what he was waiting for, but he waited none-the-less.

_December, 1986_

Harry trotted along the crowded sidewalk, careful to keep an eye on the red umbrella held high over his Aunt Petunia's bird-like head. His arms were beginning to burn, but he simply clutched his parcels tighter, craning his neck to see over the top of them as he struggled to keep the brisk pace set by the hovering umbrella.

The light drizzle picked up, splattering against Harry's glasses and threatening to obscure his vision completely. Anxious now, he picked up his pace, nervous about losing his Aunt in the crowded London streets. He'd just begun to close the gap between them when the worn sole of his second hand shoes slipped on a smooth patch of concrete, sending him flailing helplessly forward.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, giving Harry plenty of time to watch his carefully constructed tower of packages topple and fall to the filthy ground. He just managed to jut an arm out to catch himself when strong hands grabbed at his shoulders, clutching the thin material of his jumper and hoisting him upright.

Harry stared down at his Aunt's sodden packages with dismay before raising startling green eyes to the man now peering down at him. The man in question was quite unlike anyone Harry had ever seen before. He was very tall and broad, but lean where his uncle was round. He was dressed in a sort of dark green overcoat that fit him almost like a cape, and he carried a walking stick topped with a wicked looking silver snake's head. His hair was longer even than Aunt Petunia's, and so blond it almost looked white. The eyes that peered down at Harry, gray as the overcast sky above him, looked torn between annoyance and pity. In fact, the man seemed startled and most irritated with himself for having helped Harry in the first place.

Harry opened his mouth to mumble some sort of thanks, but froze at the sound of his aunt's shrill voice. "_Harry James Potter_! How _dare_ you drop my things in the street, you stupid, _worthless_ child!"

Harry immediately began gathering the wet packages in his arms, tensing in anticipation of a sharp pinch on his ear or a slap across his bowed head, but stopped when the strange man knelt down next to him, looking closely at his face and even reaching a gloved hand out to brush Harry's fringe out of his eyes, gasping harshly at the sight of the lightning bolt scar. The man's already porcelain face paled to a chalky white, his lips pressing together in a hard line while those gray eyes searched Harry's face frantically. Apparently, having seen whatever it was he was looking for, his expression hardened with resolve and he stood, turning to face Petunia, who had frozen upon seeing him.

Harry could hear them speaking above him in low tones as he gathered the last of the parcels, but could not make out what they said. When he stood again, the strange man looked to be replacing the head of his cane, and Petunia was staring blankly ahead, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

Clearing his throat nervously, Harry looked up at his aunt. "I-I'm sorry I dropped your things—my shoes slipped on the wet pavement. Aunt Petunia?"

She looked down at him, but her eyes still had that dreamy, unfocused look about them, and her voice was much lower and calmer than Harry could ever remember hearing it. "Harry, this man was a friend of your parents. You're going to be staying with him from now."

Harry looked disbelievingly from Petunia to the stranger and back. The stranger looked down at Harry with a sad, careful sort of smile, and then spoke in a low, velvety voice. "I'm sure this is quite a shock for you, but I don't believe your parents would have wanted you with…this woman. I have a son just your age and a very large home; I think you'd be very happy with us, and we'd be honored to have you."

"But…" Harry gaped at the man and then back at Petunia, unable to process what was happening. Was she really going to just give him away to a stranger on the street? Could she really be that eager to be rid of him? Harry's mind supplied the answer to his questions easily. Yes. Yes, of course she wouldn't hesitate at the first opportunity to unload him.

Harry felt scared and angry tears pricking at his eyes, but held them back by the sheer force of will, and turned to address the man. "How did you know my parents?"

The man read the doubt in Harry's eyes and answered with a serious expression. "We attended school together."

"What were their names?"

"James Potter and Lily Evans Potter. James had black hair just like yours, and Lily had the same green eyes you have. They died on October 31, 1981. I'm not lying to you, Harry. I understand if you're frightened, but you really must come with me now."

"But what about…" Harry turned toward his aunt only to find that she'd disappeared, slipped away into the bustling crowd while he questioned the stranger. He let his arms fall to his side, the parcels splashing and scattering on the concrete, dirty and forgotten. He didn't stop the tears this time, and they swelled and spilled over his inky lashes, mixing with the cold rain on his face and disappearing from sight.

The man was kneeling next to him again, soaking the fine material of his cape-like garment. He placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, turning him away from the crowds to face him. "If you're worried about your things…"

Harry shook his head, fighting against the painful constriction in his throat, unwilling to cry outright like a child in front of the strange man. "I haven't any things."

The stranger's expression hardened again. "Well, we'll fix that easily enough. Come now, Harry. It's going to be alright. My name is Lucius." His expression softened as he extended a gloved hand between them.

Harry sniffed and placed his small hand inside the man's large one, the latter folding over and covering Harry's frozen fingers with the soft, warm material of his glove. Harry looked down, comforted by the unfamiliar gesture, then up into gentle gray eyes, and smiled.

_Later that evening…_

Harry curled into a tight ball in the middle of his enormous bed, knobby knees pressed against his chest, too-thin arms wrapped tight around them like twine on a package. The room—_his _room, was bigger than the entire ground floor of the house on Privet Drive. A few flickering candles cast dancing shadows into the far corners of the cavernous space, their light not even touching the vaulted ceiling above. His bed was the largest he'd ever seen, the mattress soft, the sheets smooth as butter, and the pillows voluminous and fluffy.

Harry felt smaller than he'd ever felt before; a minnow adrift in a wide ocean. Alone. Empty. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling and clutched his knees a little tighter to his chest.

Just down the hall, Draco Malfoy eased open his bedroom door and poked his white-blond head out, craning it this way and that, listening for the steady footfalls of his parents. The manor was completely silent but for the occasional shuffling from the countless portraits lining the halls. He quietly eased out into the hallway, closing his door with a barely audible 'snick'. He was breathing a sigh of relief when a light 'pop' behind him caused him to gasp harshly as he spun around, coming face to face with one of the family's house elves.

"Master Draco mustn't be out of bed, young sir! The Master would be most displeased, yes him would!"

Draco winced at the creature's unhushed voice. "Please, Dobby, please be quiet! I'm just going to check on the new boy—I want to make sure he's alright. Please don't tell Father!"

Dobby eyed his young charge carefully, worrying at his lip and tugging on one ear. "You is just going to Master Harry's room, yes? No where else?"

Draco nodded, his pale blond locks bouncing and reflecting the sparse moonlight from the huge windows at the end of the hall. "Yes, I promise. He's right next door, I'll just go check on him and then go right back to bed. Promise."

Dobby let out a nervous whine before nodding. "Alright then, Master Draco. But you is going to bed quickly!"

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks Dobby." The elf nodded once more, looked around nervously, then popped away again.

Draco wasted no time in quietly jogging down the hall to the very next door, opening it as stealthily as possible and then slipping inside. He immediately crept towards the bed opposite the door, but paused halfway there. It was empty.

A small knot formed itself in Draco's stomach as he nervously scanned the room, looking for a head of wild black hair or a glint of green, but finding nothing. Feeling very worried, he called out in a hoarse whisper, "_Harry_? Harry, are you alright?"

A small, muffled voice replied, "Draco?" Before Harry's head popped out from underneath the massive four poster.

The knot in Draco's stomach seemed to dissolve, quickly replaced by amusement. "Harry, what the blazes are you doing down there?" Draco skipped forward and then kneeled on the floor by the bed.

Harry bit his lip, training his eyes down on the dark grains of the wood floor beneath him. "It's too big in here."

"Oh." Draco turned around, taking in the room behind him. "I never much liked this room. Did you get scared?"

Harry just shrugged, still not meeting the other boy's eyes.

"Well, come on then." Draco held out a hand to Harry, which he eyed curiously before accepting. "Only one thing for it."

Draco pulled Harry out from under the bed and to his feet. Harry just followed him across the room wearing a puzzled expression. "What's that?"

Draco smiled warmly back at Harry and gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "You'll just have to sleep with me in my room."

Harry smiled back, the tightness in his chest loosening a bit as he followed the blond boy down the hall and into another bedroom. Harry looked around and immediately liked this room much more than his own. It might have been the candles burning high up in the hanging iron fixture, casting dim, even light over the whole room, it might have been all of the green, his favorite color, or the toys lining the shelves and filling the chests beneath the huge windows. It might have been the clothes on the floor, or the fact that this room felt lived-in and real. It might have been any of these things, but somehow Harry knew that the thing he liked best about this room, the thing that made him feel warm and safe for maybe the first time in his life, was the pale, blond boy crawling across the bed, throwing stuffed animals to the floor to make room for him.

Draco Malfoy pulled back the grass-green coverlet and waved Harry over, wearing a sleepy smile. Harry climbed into the bed, snuggling under the covers and twisting onto his side to get comfortable. He giggled softly when Draco cuddled up behind him, the point of his sharp nose digging into the nape of Harry's neck briefly as the little blond boy laughed right back.

"Night Harry." Draco whispered, draping an arm around Harry's midsection and hugging him tight.

Harry's smile was huge as he stared into the semi-darkness around them. "Night Draco."

_February, 1987 (3 months later…)_

Narcissa Malfoy paused in the doorway to her son's room, a soft smile growing at the sight of the two boys spread out on the floor, surrounded by parchment and a colorful array of oil pastels. They lay facing opposite directions with their shoulders touching, so that their bowed heads were nearly aligned, darkest black next to palest blond. They spoke in hushed voices, inaudible to her ears, intermittent with bursts of giggles.

Draco was the first to notice her presence, letting out a dramatic gasp and throwing himself down to cover his picture. "Oi mate, lookout—a spy!"

Narcissa chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest in mock indignation. "A spy? Really, now Draco."

Harry smiled shyly up at her from behind Draco's huddled form. "You can't come in just yet, Mrs. Malfoy—they're not finished."

Narcissa hummed softly, suppressing her amusement. "Alright then, but it's almost time for tea. Wash your hands and come downstairs as soon as you're done."

The boys chorused "Yes ma'am," breaking out into another round of inexplicable giggles. She shook her head, smiling fondly as she left them to their artwork.

Later that evening, Narcissa sat at her vanity, brushing out her long hair while Lucius readied for bed. She went to put her brush away, but paused upon finding two rolls of parchment tucked in the topmost drawer. Unrolling the first, she discovered a drawing of what she assumed to be Draco riding on the back of a fierce looking red dragon. His wand was extended, with something that might have been lightning shooting out from it. She couldn't suppress a sigh at her own fierce little dragon, determined and ruthless one minute, loving and affectionate the next. Such a little contradiction.

She was still smiling down at Draco's drawing when she felt more than heard Lucius approach. He stopped just behind her, placing a gentle hand against the nape of her neck, fingers working, rubbing small, soothing circles into the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders. He leaned in, studying the picture with an amused smirk.

She leaned into his touch, letting her eyes slip shut. "He is _so_ your child."

"Except for the unfortunate giggling situation. That most certainly did _not_ come from his father."

"Hmm…the cuddling is all you, though."

Lucius dipped his head once. "True." He leaned in to place a lingering kiss against his wife's pale forehead, then caught sight of the second parchment. "And what's this one?" He leaned in, arms encasing her slim frame as he unrolled the other picture, laying it flat against the vanity's surface.

Narcissa reached out to touch Harry's neat signature at the bottom. The drawing was a fairly impressive rendering of herself and Lucius. The background was the night sky, midnight blue dotted with white and yellow stars the same shade he'd used to color both their long hair. Lucius was wearing a green cloak like the one he had on the first day he met Harry, and Narcissa was wearing a floor-length white robe. They stood together, holding hands and smiling. Narcissa thought it might have been the nicest portrait they'd ever had.

The idea that Harry saw them this way, and not the cold, uncaring, and often evil persona the public had assigned them, it made her feel…she wasn't sure what. Relief, of a sort. It was like having the weight of an entire person, the person she was supposed to be, believed to be, lifted from her shoulders. She'd never really felt like that person, never really wanted to be her.

Lucius stroked his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a stray tear before tilting her chin back so he could meet her eyes. "Are you alright darling?"

Narcissa looked up with a shaky smile. "I'm wonderful dear. Just wonderful."

The next morning, after giving Draco a hug and kiss as a special thank you for the picture, she placed him at the breakfast table and pulled Harry aside for a private talk.

His bright green eyes were wide with worry, his little hands twisting and wringing together behind his back as he followed her into the parlor. Narcissa sat on a low settee, gesturing for Harry to sit beside her, all the while watching his anxious behavior.

"Harry, dear, is everything alright?"

His little voice was hushed when he spoke, just barely concealing a tremor. "You're sending me away, aren't you?"

"What? Oh, Harry no, no of course not!" Harry sniffled and kept his eyes trained down on his lap, so Narcissa reached across, gently taking his chin and guiding him up to look at her. "I would _never._"

His eyes welled up, little tears spilling over his inky lashes while his lower lip trembled before he caught it between his teeth. Narcissa felt her heart clench painfully in her chest and promptly gathered the child into her lap, holding him close and stroking a soothing hand through his hair.

"You do like it here, don't you Harry?" He hiccoughed and nodded against her shoulder. "I want to make it so that you can stay here with us, permanently. Would you like that?" Another nod, this one a bit more timid. "Well, in that case, I think you ought to start calling me 'Mother.' What do you think?"

Harry leaned back, searching her face, her pale blue eyes for something. She smiled down at him, despite the tear that spilled down her cheek. Harry reached across and clumsily wiped it away with his small fingers, then leaned in and kiss her cheek, throwing his arms around her neck.

"Thank you, Mother."

Narcissa curled her arms around him, rocking gently. Lucius looked on from the doorway wearing a sad smile. Narcissa turned her head and, meeting his gaze, nodded once.

oOo

Albus Dumbledore sat hunched over his desk, carefully deciphering text from an ancient, decrepit book. At the knock at his door, he sighed and, placing a page marker, but the book away.

"Enter."

Lucius Malfoy gave a courteous bow of his head as he entered the circular office, carrying an ornate chest just smaller than a shoebox before him.

"Good evening, Lucius. What may I help you with today?" The old man's words were kind but his expression grave, a constant reminder that Albus Dumbledore would suffer neither fools nor liars in his presence. He gestured to a comfy chair in front of his desk, and Lucius took a seat.

"I need your assistance with a rather delicate situation." Lucius paused, shaking his head softly. "Well, no, to be more accurate, I would appreciate your _support _on a certain matter, and I've come to both keep you abreast of the situation and plead my case. I think, once you've heard everything I have to say and seen everything I have to show you, you'll have no objections."

Dumbledore's sharp blue gaze was as piercing as ever. "What, exactly, is this regarding?"

"Harry Potter."

The Headmaster froze but for a slight narrowing of his eyes and tensing of his shoulders. When he did not speak, Lucius continued.

"I came across young Harry out with his aunt in muggle London. He seemed…unwell. The child looked far too thin, barely dressed in second hand clothes he could never fit into, and that…_woman_ was treating him worse than a house elf." Lucius paused, sucking in a heavy breath while Dumbledore continued that unnerving stare of his.

"Upon realizing just who the boy was, I…well I used Legilimency on the woman. Her hatred of the child was clear without even the benefit of reading her thoughts, but I was also able to get an idea of how the rest of the family treated him. I was appalled, to say the least." Lucius opened the chest on his lap and retrieved the first of three small glass vials, each filled with the swirling, mercurial mist of an extracted memory.

He placed the vial on Dumbledore's desk. "This is the memory of both the encounter and the thoughts I read."

Dumbledore picked up the vial, looking closely. "So you are concerned for Harry Potter's well being?"

Lucius cleared his throat delicately. "Well, naturally, I was both concerned and incensed. There isn't a wizard in England who doesn't know this child's name, and here he is, being treated like a dog by…" Lucius paused, clenching his jaw and regaining his focus. "Perhaps it was rash of me, but I had to act."

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up at this. "What, _exactly_, did you do, Lucius?"

Lucius was just able to prevent giving the old man an exasperated eye roll, but couldn't contain the sneer when he continued. "I didn't _harm_ the foul woman, if that's what you're wondering. I simply used the tools at my disposal to convince her to relinquish custody of the child to someone better fit to care for him."

"You cursed her."

"A mild confundus, nothing more. It was more to prevent a scene and keep from frightening Harry than anything else. I doubt she would have objected too strenuously to handing over the boy."

"So what you're saying to me is that you hexed a woman in the middle of muggle London, and then kidnapped her nephew?"

He didn't bother to contain the eye roll this time. "Always such a flare for the dramatic. Look, I realize how this seems, which is why I've come to you." He retrieved a second vial and handed it over. "These are memories given by Harry himself, memories of his life with those people." Finally he pulled out the third vial. "And this was taken from my wife, Narcissa. These are her memories of Harry since he's come to live with us. Of course, you are welcome to come to the Manor and see for yourself, but Harry is quite happy and well cared for."

Dumbledore stared down at this last vial. "How long has he been with you?"

"Three months."

"Three _months_? And you're just now coming forward?"

"I didn't want to act to make this permanent until I was sure it was the best course of action. But it's become obvious, for everyone involved, that Harry belongs with us now. I came here today because Narcissa _adores_ this child and is terrified that he'll be taken away and given back to those people. Not just she, but our son, Draco, would be devastated as well."

Dumbledore looked closely at Lucius, turning those x-ray eyes of his up to study him so intently he might as well be looking at the inside of his skull. "And what about you, Lucius? This boy is responsible for the downfall of your master, your _Dark Lord_. Am I to believe that means _nothing_ to you?"

For less than a second, Lucius entertained the idea of pleading his innocence once more, but one look from Dumbledore confirmed that the old man had never been fooled by his claims of controlling curses.

"I've made some choices in the past that…well." Lucius paused, looking down at his folded hands and continuing in a softer voice. "You know I have a son. He was born less than two months before Harry. When He-who-must-not-be-named went after the Potters in order to murder their child—their _one-year-old_ child, it wasn't hard to see the evil in that. How easily could that have been my own son? And over _what_? A prophecy—a far-fetched, ridiculous prediction made by some batty woman trying to get a job."

Dumbledore raised a questioning brow at Lucius, who waved it off. "Yes, yes of course I know all about the prophecy. I don't know exactly what it said, but I know it's why he went after Harry."

"The fact that he was defeated in the process of attempting his most heinous act yet…that was not lost on me. I admit, at first, the child presented a curious mystery that I was eager to unravel. I don't know what I was expecting to learn—Harry was still in nappies when it all happened. I still don't know how such a powerful wizard was defeated by a toddler, but it no longer seems so important. He's not just 'the boy who lived' anymore, he's Harry. And he's…a very endearing child."

Dumbledore sat in silence, mulling over this information. "You know, I never believed Voldemort truly died that night. I'm almost certain he's still out there, in some form or other, and I'm just as certain that he will try to come back. What will you do, Lucius, when he does? When he demands the child in order to finish what he started?"

Lucius met Dumbledore's stony gaze for a moment before withdrawing the last item in the chest. He placed the item, a small, inconspicuous looking journal, in front of the old man.

"This belonged to _him_. He entrusted it to me, charged me with keeping it safe at all cost. He never said exactly what it is, but I know a bit of what it's capable of, and that's given me a clue or two. Through this journal, the Dark Lord is capable of _possessing_ another being." He fixed Dumbledore with a sharp look, quirking an eyebrow and asking quite pointedly. "Are _you_ familiar with anything that could accomplish such a thing?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened behind half-moon frames as the implications sunk in. Lucius nodded once, then returned his gaze to the leather-bound book.

"I believe, and this is mere speculation, but I _believe_ he would have made more than one. If you do this for me, if you let us keep Harry…I will do my best to help you find and destroy each one. I swear it."

Dumbledore looked at Lucius, deep and long and searching, then nodded once. "Well then…we've work to do."

**A/N: So, the purpose of this little bit is to more or less set the stage for an AU I've been working on. I don't intend to chronicle every movement in the fight against Voldemort, because it's my intention to take a lot of that burden away from Harry. I have already written several more chapters, but I plan to skip quite a lot of time in between each (I doubt the second chapter will be set less than 4 years from this one). I'll do my best to fill in the gaps, though, and explain the major differences between this storyline and canon. I hope that by being flexible with the pacing of this story, I can keep it from feeling tedious and me from losing interest.**

**Also, this will eventually be Harry/Draco. I'll adjust the rating and add warnings as necessary.**

**Thanks for reading!**

Story title inspired by the Pixies' song "Winterlong"

I waited for you winterlong

You seemed to be where I belong

It's all illusion anyway…


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters. I love them just as much as my own, more than, even, but I remain a pitiful replacement for the talented mother who birthed them. This metaphor is starting to weird me out. I think I should go to bed.

**A/N: Once again, Harry is born in 1980, so in this chapter, he is 11 years old. Updates on Lucius and Dumbledore next time. Thanks for reading; reviews = love.**

_September 1__st__, 1991_

Harry sat atop his neatly packed trunk, nervously combing his fingers through his hair and watching the light play through the high windows over the manor entry. He could just hear Narcissa's voice at the top of the stairs as she called for Draco to finish packing, hurling empty threats about leaving for King's Cross without him.

Habit had him reaching to adjust his glasses, his fingers faltering when meeting only skin before he remembered the visit to the healers the previous week. He'd been thrilled at the time to finally be free of his poor vision, but he hadn't anticipated how naked he would feel without his glasses. He was nervous enough that day without having to make the extra adjustment.

Light footfalls alerted him to Narcissa's presence on the grand staircase behind him, and he turned to offer a tight smile as she seated herself primly beside him.

"Feeling anxious, Harry?" She reached across, casually threading her fingers through his unruly hair, uselessly smoothing and arranging it into a semblance of order that would last only a minute before inevitably reverting to chaos once more.

Harry just nodded, his chest tight with nerves and a hesitance to leave the safety of home behind.

"You're going to love Hogwarts, darling. And I know you'll do well, there. You'll make lots of new friends and learn so much, and you know you'll always have Draco. I feel so much better, knowing you boys will be looking after one another."

Harry did smile a bit at that. He was nervous about starting school, but he only imagined it'd be a hundred times worse if he were going alone. His smile slipped a bit, though, once he thought about the sorting that would take place that evening.

"But what if we're put into different houses?"

Narcissa shrugged and smiled reassuringly. "It's possible. Both your parents were in Gryffindor, after all. But being in different houses won't change anything. You'll still be close—you'll just have to learn how to sleep alone."

Harry blushed at her teasing smile. He hadn't realized anyone knew he and Draco still slept together most nights. He'd often wondered whether it was normal for eleven year-old boys to share a bed, but the sense of comfort and affection, the feeling of _home_ he got from the sound of Draco's soft breaths in the dark was strong enough to quell any lingering questions or concerns.

Luckily, Harry was rescued from responding to that comment by thundering footsteps on the stairs behind them. He began to stand up from his seat, but made it only halfway before he was tackled to the floor in a blur of white hair and long limbs.

Draco's laugh echoed loudly in the spacious entryway as they rolled and tussled on the floor, twisting and straining for dominance. Harry, despite still being several inches shorter, managed to come out on top with one of Draco's arms pinned behind him and his neck gripped in an inescapable head-lock. Draco's wide grin never faltered, even as he admitted defeat.

Narcissa stood to the side, arms folded over her chest as she looked down on her boys with a fond sort of exasperation only ever seen on the face of a mother. "Honestly, I'm almost glad to see you both leave—I'm not sure I could handle much more of this."

Harry released Draco immediately and stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his previously neatly pressed trousers with a chagrined expression. Draco remained on the floor, looking up at his mother with his lip pushed out in a pout. "_Almost_ glad?"

Narcissa smiled, nudging him up off the floor with her foot. "Almost, but not _quite_."

Draco hopped up and planted a kiss on his mother's cheek, allowing her to smooth down his ruffled hair.

"Alright boys, Father will be waiting to meet us at the platform." Narcissa levitated the trunks with a flick of her wand, and then sent them out the door to a waiting town car. Draco ran ahead, and Harry followed, pausing at the door to take one last look back, taking some comfort in knowing that his real home was already waiting for him in the drive.

Less than an hour later, Harry and Draco were settling into an empty carriage on the Hogwarts Express. Draco was chattering excitedly, pointing out familiar faces in the crowd and speculating about house placements, while Harry smiled and nodded, trying to keep up with Draco while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. He'd been gaped at by a few observant people on the platform while he bid goodbye to Lucius and Narcissa, and, as always, he found the sensation beyond uncomfortable.

The door to their compartment slid open to reveal a redheaded boy with what looked to be a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"Hullo, do you mind if I sit here?"

Draco cast a sharp glance at the boy, taking in his rumpled appearance. He opened his mouth to reply, but Harry, having identified the expression on Draco's face that could only foreshadow a harsh and biting remark, intervened, elbowing the blond boy sharply.

"Er, yeah, have a seat. I'm Harry, this is Draco."

The redheaded boy's jaw dropped open at Harry's introduction, his blue eyes zeroing in on the scar that was just visible beneath Harry's black fringe.

"You-you're…"

Draco cut in with an annoyed eye roll. "Harry Potter, yes. Do close your mouth; you look ridiculous."

"Right, sorry. I'm Ron, Ron Weasley." Ron sat himself in the window seat across from Harry, looking like he was struggling not to ogle or barrage him with questions.

He never got the chance, as the door slid open to reveal Blaise Zabini, a dark-skinned boy Harry had met a few times before.

"Hullo Draco, Harry. Got room for one more?" Blaise looked briefly at Ron before seemingly dismissing the boy from his thoughts altogether.

Draco pasted on his 'polite for company' smile—the only one Blaise had ever seen from him, and gestured to the seat next to Ron. "Of course Blaise, come on in. This is Ron Weaselby."

"Weasley." Harry corrected, shooting Draco an annoyed look.

"Right, sorry."

Draco and Blaise began a haughty conversation about the other first years from their social circle, while Harry and Ron quietly watched the scenery outside the window. Some time later, a small girl with bushy brown hair came by looking for a toad, but didn't stay long. Blaise regarded her with a look that was bordering on disgust, scoffing once she'd left again.

"Saw that one on the platform with her muggle parents. Can't believe people like that are even allowed through the barrier. You'd think they be more discreet, wouldn't you? It's like she _wants_ everyone to know what she is."

Harry turned to Blaise with cold eyes. "And what exactly is she?"

Blaise just gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Just a mudblood. She doesn't even belong here."

Ron's ears had gone red, his jaw tight, while Draco went stiff, turning to Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry remained outwardly calm, but Draco could see him seething beneath the surface. "Well I'm half a mudblood, and I defeated the darkest wizard who's ever lived. What the hell have _you_ ever done?"

Blaise turned to Harry, looking somewhere between amused and enraged. "That's right; I almost forgot."

"Well _don't_." Harry wasn't sure if Blaise meant forgetting he'd defeated Voldemort, or about his mother being muggleborn, but it didn't seem to matter either way. He finally broke the icy stare he'd leveled at the other boy to turn and look at Draco. He could tell by the barely suppressed glee in Draco's gray eyes that he approved of the way Harry had handled the situation. Draco always did love it when Harry purposefully intimidated people.

Several hours later, Harry and Draco stood side by side in the long line of first years waiting to be sorted. Harry's eyes flitted from one side of the Great Hall to the other, from Gryffindor to Slytherin and back again. He was feeling more conflicted than ever about the sorting, not knowing just where he wanted to end up. He didn't want to be separated from Draco, but he honestly didn't think he could handle some of the other prats in that house. Little pug-faced Pansy Parkinson had been trailing after him and Draco since she found them on the train, and Harry was certain he could not take 7 years of her undivided attention.

The sorting was well under way, and Harry watched the muggleborn girl from the train, Hermione Granger, get sorted into Gryffindor, among many other students Harry didn't know. When it was Draco's turn, he gave Harry one last cocky smirk that just slightly faltered as he turned toward the stool, took a seat, and placed the patched old hat on his head. He sat there for several minutes, much longer than Harry expected, before the hat finally shouted "SLYTHERIN," and Draco hopped down, looking oddly resigned. He shot Harry a strange smile as he made his way to the cheering table of students wearing silver and green. Harry watched Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson also sort into Slytherin without surprise, and he then realized that every student he had met before that day had gone into Slytherin. Some were obnoxious, like Parkinson and Zabini, but some weren't half bad, like Theo. Harry felt more conflicted than ever about where he wanted to be.

So, it was with a sense of foreboding that he finally approached the stool, so deep in thought that he hadn't even noticed the entire student body whispering, pointing, and basically flipping out at the sound of his name. He took a seat, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled the hat over his head.

oOo

The Great Hall became a swirling sea of black-robed students as everyone stood to depart for their dorms at once. Harry was pushed along with the throng, craning his neck this way and that in an effort to see through the crowd, but to no avail. The older students were all much taller than Harry, affording him no opportunity to seek out Draco's familiar head of white blond hair among the more common browns, blacks, and dirty blonds. Students pressed in all around him, shouting eagerly across one another to much missed friends as they filed out of the Hall.

Harry was enveloped by the same feeling he'd had his first night at the Manor—he felt so small and alone as he was herded, unnoticed, by the larger students pressing in around him. He felt his chest tighten as panic threatened to settle in, the pressure mounting and weighing him down until a hand shot out from the throng, gripping his arm tight and pulling him into a small alcove just outside the Hall. Harry sighed with acute relief as he turned to find Draco watching him closely, looking anxious.

"You alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded, smiling weakly. "Yeah, that was…just a bit much, you know?"

And Draco did, because Draco knew Harry. He knew the moment he saw the lost, frightened expression on Harry's face, because he'd seen that face before. The first night Harry stayed at the Manor, his pale face peeking out from under his enormous bed, the first time he got lost in the mostly unused west wing, wandering in the dark beneath unlit lamps, the first time Lucius took the boys to Diagon Alley, when Harry had been swarmed by admirers and gawkers. Draco took one look into Harry's eyes and knew his chest was tight with panic, his breathing shallow and his eyes burning with the threat of tears. So Draco'd fought and pushed his way through the crowd to Harry, to throw him a much-needed lifeline.

They stood together in silence, waiting for the crowds to thin a bit before venturing out again. When the flood of students had lessened to a trickle, they emerged from their alcove and headed to the main stairways. They stopped at the juncture, Harry spotting a couple of older girls wearing red and gold ties that he could follow up to the Gryffindor tower. Draco looked to go right, down the stairs and into the dungeons with the other Slytherins.

"Well, Draco, I guess…see you at breakfast tomorrow?"

Draco nodded glumly. "Yeah, see yah, Harry."

Harry smiled a little sadly before turning towards the stairs. He made it six and a half steps before Draco's voice rang out behind him.

"Wait!" Harry turned just in time to catch Draco as he flung himself at Harry in a suffocating hug. Harry gripped him back just as tightly.

"Night Harry."

Harry laughed a little breathlessly, the force of it ruffling the blond hair pressed against his face. "Night Draco."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: These characters, settings, etc, do not belong to me. That's probably for the best, because I would most likely abuse them most egregiously. Not that I don't do that already.

**A/N: Third year, suckahs! So, this is officially drifting into the murky realm of pre-slash. Be warned. **

_June 1993_

Lucius checked the time once more before stepping out onto the back terrace and turning on the spot. He reappeared on a hilltop overlooking the channel on one side and miles of empty country on the other three. To his left stood an enormous oak tree. He started towards it and was halfway there when a sharp _crack_ signaled another arrival. Dumbledore now stood in its shade, looking out over the cliffs to the rolling waves below.

The old man addressed him without taking his eyes off the water. "Thank you for meeting me, Lucius."

Lucius nodded, silently waiting for Dumbledore to let him in on the reasons behind their sudden rendezvous.

"Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."

Lucius froze, his eyes trained on Dumbledore's ever-calm profile. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this. "_How_?" An escape from the notorious wizarding prison was more than unheard of, it was unthinkable.

"I have theories, but they're just that. We have reason to believe that Black may be after Harry."

Lucius took a deep, fortifying breath. "That's not possible."

Dumbledore finally turned to look at him then, his blue eyes shadowed with worry. "What do you mean?" 

"I knew Sirius Black. He was a few years behind me in school. Narcissa knew him quite well; they were cousins after all, and the Blacks are a notoriously thick family. Or were, at any rate."

Lucius raised his eyes to Dumbledore's. "Sirius Black was no Death Eater. I'd stake my life on it."

"You're sure of this?"

Lucius nodded, his eyes solemn. "To be frank, his incarceration was a bit of a joke to those of us who alluded Azkaban. None of the Death Eaters knew of every person in Voldemort's service, for obvious reasons, but not a single one believed Black to be among us. I'm sure, if given a proper trial, he would have been proven innocent."

Lucius paused, averting his eyes from the wretched expression Dumbledore wore.

"This escape, though; it means _something_, I'm sure of it. There have been…_whispers_. Unsubstantial, vague, but disconcerting none-the-less. His faithful followers grow restless, and I fear we are on the cusp of something. Black may know what's happening; we have to find him."

"And when we do?" 

"Talk to him. Help him, clear his name. We give the man his life back, and he gives us information, whatever he's learned in that god-forsaken pit they've held him in."

Dumbledore nodded after a moment of silent thought. "Very well. I'll put my resources to work, while you keep an extra close watch on Harry."

Lucius bowed slightly and turned to go, but paused at Dumbledore's next query, his voice casual and easy once more. "Oh and Lucius…I wonder if I might enlist your help in our little ongoing project."

Lucius turned back, quirking one blond eyebrow.

"Has Narcissa access to the Lestrange's Gringotts vault, by any chance?"

oOo

_August 1993_

Harry stopped outside Quality Quidditch, molding into the crowd of eager onlookers, all exclaiming over the latest racing broom. His attention was snatched away, however, by a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, he searched for a head of bushy brown hair, smiling widely when he spotted Hermione bouncing up to see over the throng.

He made his way through the crowd, catching the small girl up in a swift hug, her wayward locks tickling his nose as she laughed against him.

"Harry! How's your summer been?"

"Oh fine. Not much has happened since my last letter. How about you? How was France?"

Hermione smiled, taking Harry's hand and leading him towards Flourish and Blotts. "Lovely as ever."

"See you've got a nice tan. Enjoy the beaches?" Harry poked softly at the golden-brown of her arm, earning a giggle as she swatted his hand away.

She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it closed again at the sneering voice that sounded behind them.

"Isn't that just _adorable._ Looks like Potters adopted himself a mudblood. Your father must be _thrilled_."

Hermione's cheeks colored as she hastily dropped Harry's hand. He responded by slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly to his side. Harry readied himself for a scathing reply, but a familiar drawl beat him to it.

"Oh shove off, Zabini. You're just mad Granger's beat you in every subject for the last two years." Draco stepped up on Hermione's open side, casually draping an arm over her shoulders and mussing Harry's untidy black locks.

Hermione blushed fiercely, feeling dwarfed between the two boys, but allowed the gesture. Zabini pushed past them wearing an ugly scowl and muttering "Disgusting" under his breath. Draco shot daggers at his retreating back, dropping his arm again once he was out of sight.

He then turned a charming smile on Hermione, executing a playful half-bow. "Granger."

She offered him a meek smile in return, subconsciously curling in tighter to Harry's side. "Malfoy."

Harry laughed softly at her obvious discomfort, knowing full well how out of sorts the blond boy always made her feel. "We were just headed to the bookshop. Care to come along, Draco?"

"You go on ahead. I want a closer look at that new racing broom."

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. "No longer satisfied with the 2001? Or were you thinking a broom upgrade might increase your chances on the pitch?"

Draco scowled at the thinly veiled taunt. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up while you can—you're going _down_ this year, Potter!"

"Uh huh. I'll believe _that _when I see it, Malfoy."

Draco made a rude hand gesture, earning an indignant gasp from Hermione, then smiled brightly before heading back to the quidditch shop.

Hermione shook her head in bemusement. "You two are so odd."

Harry nodded, grinning stupidly. "Yeah."

oOo

_September 1__st__, 1993 1:27 am_

"Hey Harry—you awake?"

Harry smiled into the darkness at the sound of Draco's hushed whisper, noting that the blond's new, testosterone-induced lower voice disappeared when he was trying to be quiet. He sounded so much like his younger self, Harry half expected to turn over and find round cheeks and stubby arms, rather than the long lines and hard angles he'd grown into. He didn't turn, instead closing his eyes and allowing himself to pretend they were kids again, whispering late into the night.

"Yeah. What's up?" He heard the other boy shifting, the slide of sheets against soft flannel.

"School tomorrow."

"Hmm."

"Do you ever…" Draco trailed off, prompting Harry to finally open his eyes and lay out on his back, rolling his head so he could see Draco's gray eyes glinting softly in the dark. Draco lay stretched out on his side, looking for all the world like a lean and graceful jungle cat, thoroughly shattering any lingering illusions of past youth.

"What?"

Draco lifted his head, supporting it with a loose fist, his elbow propped on the downy pillow beneath him. "I just wish we were in the same house, that's all."

His voice was straining for casual, the way it always did when Draco attempted discussing anything remotely sentimental. Harry suppressed a smirk, graciously denying the urge to tease him, knowing these moments of emotional depth were rare and precious with the Slytherin, and thus to be treasured accordingly. He smiled softly instead, saying what the other boy could not.

"Yeah, I'm going to miss you." He could just barely make out the subtle widening of gray eyes behind blond fringe, so pale it looked white in the darkness.

"Yeah?"

Harry nodded, and Draco lowered his eyes, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, as he was wont to do when he was feeling anxious. Harry wondered at this reaction for a moment, before Draco slowly shifted forward, one long, pale arm extending across Harry's abdomen as he gently rested his head in the shallow hollow beneath his shoulder.

Harry's breath hitched in his chest even as his own arm instinctively curled around Draco, who deftly molded himself to Harry's side. He felt Draco slowly expel a deep breath, the moist warmth of it seeping through his thin t-shirt and heating his skin. The heat seemed to spread, across Harry's chest and up the fragile skin of his neck and on, until he felt it rise in his cheeks and on into the tops of his ears. Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so _warm_, and Draco's head and arm were the most pleasant of weights, not crushing so much as anchoring. He had the inexplicable thought that he might just float away without their reassuring presence.

He turned his head just slightly, until he felt the silky strands of Draco's flaxen hair against his cheek, and breathed deeply, filling his chest with the familiar scents of fresh mint, lemon, and just a hint of chocolate. He smelled clean and fresh; he smelled like home.

Draco's arm tightened around Harry's abdomen, and Harry could clearly feel the rhythmic pounding of Draco's pulse where his chest rested against Harry's side. He knew the furious pace matched his own; he could feel his heart thudding in his chest, so strongly it felt it would somehow climb up his throat to escape the tight confines of his ribs.

Again, just as the last dozen times he'd experienced this particular brand of overwhelmed, Harry felt unease; a niggling voice in the back of his head whispering "_not normal_." He batted the voice away, but felt taunted by the echoes of it resonating inside his skull. Maybe this _wasn't _normal. Maybe he wasn't supposed to feel this…_feeling_, this hot-tight-heavy-thick-_yes_ feeling while lying in bed with the closest thing he'd ever have to a brother. Maybe Harry was a terrible person. A _freak_. And oh, how that word haunted him—vague memories of bird-like women and huge, horrible men, of small, dark spaces and spiders on the wall. A familiar knot worked its way into Harry's stomach, bringing the cold, sick feeling of shame with it.

He felt the prickling threat of tears in his eyes, hating the shame and hating himself for wanting the shame to leave and bring back the warmth of Draco.

The arm across his abdomen loosened slightly, giving a small twitch a moment later just as Draco let out a muffled whimper—the sleepy sound familiar and comforting. Harry cut off all thoughts of feelings both good and bad, instead focusing on Draco's deep, even breaths and pacing his own to match. Draco nuzzled against him, his sharp nose digging comfortably into Harry's chest, just as the green-eyed boy drifted off to sleep.

oOo

_April 16__th__, 1994_

"Draco, wait up!" Harry chased after the retreating blond, lugging his quidditch gear and firebolt awkwardly behind him. He'd barely managed to shake most of his ecstatic housemates after the match, promising to meet up with them in the common room after.

Draco continued on, barely turning his head to shout his reply behind him. "Shouldn't you be off celebrating, Potter? Don't want to keep your fan club waiting."

Harry cringed at the unconcealed bitterness in Draco's voice. "Wait a minute! Draco, would you just…" He lunged the last bit of distance between them, his sudden assault knocking the unsuspecting Slytherin to the ground beneath him. "Stop!"

Draco immediately twisted under him, knees and fists flying while Harry struggled to get a restraining grip on his flailing limbs, catching a fist in his eye and a knee in his gut before managing to subdue the other boy.

Harry pinned Draco's wrists to the damp earth, waiting patiently until he stopped struggling to buck Harry off. After a moment, Draco stilled, his cheeks red and puffing with hard, angry breaths, his blond hair all over the place with bits of grass and dirt smudged in. He finally met Harry's gaze, his gray eyes flashing.

Harry raised one sardonic eyebrow. "Are you done?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Hate you."

"No you don't."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Do!"

"Don't."

Draco, feeling Harry's hold loosen, brought his knee up hard, catching Harry right between the legs. He let out a breathless 'oomph', his emerald green eyes going comically wide before releasing his hold on Draco and rolling to the side, curling in on himself and cupping his bruised man-parts tenderly.

"Oh, you…sodding _bastard_!" His words, however forceful, were undermined by the almost-laughing tone beneath them.

Draco pulled himself up and began to storm away, making it all of about five meters before turning back and walking over to Harry, offering a hand and roughly tugging him to his feet.

"You deserved that."

Harry shot Draco an incredulous look, shaking his head lightly. "You're completely barmy, you know that, yes? Barmy and _mean_—good Godric, Draco! It's lucky quidditch is over; I'll not be able to sit a broom for a week!"

Draco chuckled darkly and scooped Harry's bag up in one arm, curling the other around Harry's waist. Harry snatched up his broom and threw his arm over Draco's shoulders as they made their way to the castle. Halfway there, they met up with Professor Lupin looking paler than usual, his eyes strangely bright.

"Ah, Harry, Draco, I was looking for you. You're both wanted in the Headmaster's office."

The boys exchanged blank looks, but shrugged and followed after him.

"Weren't you at the match, professor?"

The older man looked fondly at the two seekers and shook his head. "Fraid not, Harry. Something rather important came up, but I wish I'd been there. I trust it was thrilling, though."

Draco scoffed and tossed his hair back pompously. "Of course. It was a very near thing, you know. Could have gone either way, in the end. Won by an extremely narrow margin. Centimeters, really."

Harry attempted to cover up a laugh as a coughing fit, and Draco shot him a dark look, purposefully stepping down hard on Harry's foot.

Lupin just smiled indulgently. "I'm sorry I missed it."

The pair spent the walk to Dumbledore's office filling their professor in on every play of the match, gesticulating wildly and talking over one another at turns. They'd come to the climactic chase for the snitch when the door to Dumbledore's office opened and they were finally brought out of their intensely focused retelling by the sight of Lucius Malfoy standing stiffly just inside the doorway.

"Father?" Draco turned puzzled gray eyes first to Lucius, then back to Remus.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" Harry's voice was low and rough; the tension was rolling off Lucius in waves, and Harry's chest began to tighten in panic.

Lucius stepped forward, awkwardly placing a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "Nothing's wrong, Harry. There's someone here who'd like to meet you."

Lucius moved aside, ushering both boys further into the large, round chamber, affording them a view of the room's other occupants. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, fingers steepled before him while he watched Harry closely with piercing blue eyes. On the far side of the room stood another man, warily watching Lucius with obvious distrust.

The man was gaunt, thin in the extreme and nearly drowning in the black cloak draped carelessly over wide but bony shoulders. Beneath the cloak, Harry spied thin and filthy garments, the shirt gaping wide to exposed a thin chest spotted with strange tattoos. His hair, seemingly black (though it was hard to tell beneath the filth), was pulled back away from his face, exposing alarmingly sharp gunmetal eyes sunk deep in a face that once might have been handsome, the aristocratic cheekbones now too sharp, the strong jaw too prominent.

Those deep gray eyes finally moved from Lucius to Harry, and the man froze, sucking in a deep breath as though stricken. Harry felt caught, trapped by that intense stare, until Dumbledore's deep baritone rang through the silence, drawing Harry's attention away.

"Harry, this is Sirius Black. Your godfather."

Harry nodded, having recognized the man easily from his pictures in the paper. He'd been featured regularly since his escape, first as a warning, but then under different circumstances, as Dumbledore began speaking out in an attempt to clear his name. The media had gone into an absolute frenzy, digging up anyone and everyone from Sirius' past, revisiting the facts from the day of Sirius' arrest, investigating exhaustively and, in effect, giving the man the trial he'd been denied twelve years prior. The proverbial jury was still out, but considerable doubt had been planted, enough so that Sirius finally felt safe enough to approach his would-be saviors.

The man in question now moved slowly closer to Harry, those haunted eyes raking over him again and again. When he spoke, his voice was soft, low and smooth, a charming counter to his haggard appearance.

"Merlin, Harry. You look…" He trailed off, his eyes sliding to Harry's left, where Lupin was now standing. "James…he's _just like James_." There was a reverence to his tone when he spoke that name, and his expression looked caught somewhere between joyful discovery and absolute agony.

Lupin nodded. "Except for the eyes, of course."

Sirius smiled even as an unchecked tear slipped down his weathered cheek. "Lily's eyes. James would have been so pleased by that—he so loved Lily's eyes." He looked at Harry, addressing him almost sheepishly. "They were still blue, you know, when…" He trailed off, looking down at the floor a moment and wiping at his eyes.

Harry, seeing the obvious affection the man held for his parents, felt compelled forward, his hand outstretched. "Sirius…it's nice to finally meet you. I hope, maybe, we can get to know one another better? Maybe you could tell me about them?"

Sirius took Harry's proffered hand and smiled warmly. "Oh yes. Yes I think we must—we've missed far too much time already."

Harry and Sirius moved to several armchairs near the fire, speaking in low tones inaudible to the rest of the room, and, back near the doorway, Lucius laid a hand on Draco's shoulder, guiding him silently back to the stairwell. They remained silent while the stone steps ground beneath them, carrying them slowly down and away from the office above. Once past the gargoyle, Draco stopped and leaned heavily against the cold stone wall.

He fought against the worrying tightness in his chest and looked up to address Lucius. "Father, what does this mean? That man is Harry's godfather…is Harry meant to live with him, now?"

"No!" Lucius saw Draco flinch at his harsh tone and took a deep breath, continuing in a softer, more controlled manner. "No. Of course, Harry will see the man as often as he wishes, but there'll be no need for him to leave us."

Draco nodded, breathing a little easier. Lucius, too, seemed to relax a bit. They stood awkwardly, not meeting each other's eyes.

Draco shuffled his feet. "That's good. It's just…Mother would be heartbroken." So would Draco, though he didn't voice this thought.

Lucius nodded. "That she would." He seemed to be thinking something similar, if the awkward, almost guilty expression was anything to go by.

A moment passed in uneasy silence before Lucius spoke again, all hint of vulnerability replaced with his usual poise. "So, Gryffindor won the Cup, then?"

Draco fought not to scowl, but rather held his head high and replied airily, "Well, yes. We won it last year, of course, and it seemed prudent that we should take turns, you know. We'll have it again next year. It keeps Harry happy, so…"

Lucius smiled knowingly at his son. "How very magnanimous of you, Draco."

Draco smirked back. "Of course; I am a Malfoy."

"You are indeed."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I think we all know that if these characters belonged to me, the series would be rotting away in literary purgatory with the rest of my unfinished stories. All hail the Queen, Madame Rowling.

**A/N: It's been a while, but I really do enjoy this story and hope to finish it. Cheers to anyone still following. Also, I couldn't resist the Supernatural reference. Ten points to the reader who spots it!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Talipatra because A) it's her birthday, B) she's awesome, and C) she keeps nagging me to finish my WIPs. If I ever finished any of them, she'll be responsible for it. **

_Halloween 1994_

Harry slumped in his small alcove, dejectedly watching the moon peaking in and out beneath wispy clouds outside the diamond paned window. He suppressed an exasperated sigh at the sound of approaching students, deep in heated debate.

"Harry—there you are! Everyone's been looking for you, mate." Dean Thomas sat across from Harry while Ron Weasley leaned against the wall to his left.

"How'd you do it?" The expression Ron wore was somewhere between awe and envy, and made Harry extremely uncomfortable.

"I _didn't._ I never entered the tournament; I wouldn't have had a clue how to do it, even if I'd wanted to."

Dean looked thoughtful. "But you did want to, didn't you?"

"Of course he didn't, and he's not competing." The three boys whipped around at the drawling voice behind them. Draco moved to stand in front of Harry, arms crossed and brow set.

Harry looked up, measuring the blond's tense expression. "Draco, I _have_ to; the rules—"

"Oh, _sod the rules_! You're _not_ competing. People have _died_ in these tournaments, Harry! It's out of the question. Father's here with Sirius; they're talking to Dumbledore as we speak. I'm sure they won't allow it."

"You can't drop out of the tournament, Harry—it's a huge honor!" Ron interjected, earning a furious scowl from Draco.

"This is not the time for your ridiculous Gryffindor heroics." Draco returned in a vicious snarl. "Those other students are 3 years older than Harry. That's three years of experience and learning _he doesn't have. _If they're stupid enough to jeopardize their lives over a bloody competition—a trophy and some galleons—that's fine. But Harry's not that foolish."

Ron opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Harry cut him off with a hand. "Look, guys, I'll see you back in the common room, alright?"

Ron and Dean nodded, darting looks at the fuming Slytherin still hovering over Harry, and then left.

Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve, prompting him to take a seat beside him. "Look Draco, I know you're worried, and I get it, I do. But from what Crouch said…I don't think I have a choice here. I've been entered into some sort of binding magical contract, and I'll just have to see it through."

Draco closed his eyes and leaned against the cool window panes. "There's something else going on here, Harry. I saw Father when he got here—you should've seen his face. He's furious, but more than that, he looked _scared_. Someone put your name in that goblet, and not just for kicks either. Something's up, I know it."

"It'll be alright. It's not like I'll be going into this all alone, right?" Harry nudged Draco with his shoulder, watching as a small smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

"Oh please. Like I'd leave your incompetent arse to your own devices? You'd be dead before the first challenge."

Harry gave an indignant scoff bordering on a laugh, but couldn't help but be pleased by the way Draco's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"What would I ever do without you?"

Draco shot Harry his trademark smirk. "Crash and burn."

oOo

Lucius' pale, strong hands clutched the arms of his seat, tight tendons visible beneath alabaster skin the only outward clue to the emotions surging beneath the surface. He didn't even flinch when Sirius launched his half-empty glass of firewhiskey at the floo, shattering it with a surge of the flames where the liquor spilled into the hearth.

Dumbledore didn't bat an eyelash at the dark-haired man's outburst. He sat calmly behind his desk, fingers steepled before him, sharp gaze trained at Lucius. "You're sure it's growing darker?"

Lucius nodded tightly, his eyes involuntarily flitting down to his covered forearm. "What about the locket?"

Sirius raised his head to study the headmaster. He'd found the silver locket bearing Slytherin's crest amongst the many dark items in his ancestral home, and upon detecting some sort of shockingly strong dark magic about it, brought it to Dumbledore for inspection.

"Destroyed. I was able to garner the whole story from Kreatcher. We are down one more horcrux." Dumbledore hesitated then, his oft-twinkling eyes dark and troubled as he stared across into the dancing flames. When he spoke again, he sounded distant, thoughtful, and oddly regretful. "I believe we've one more to find, and I'm convinced it's somewhere in this castle. I've started inquiries amongst the house elves and even the ghosts. I have an idea what we're looking for."

Lucius noted the unexpressed emotion behind the old man's words, but chose not to press the issue. "If there's any way I can be of assistance…"

"I will of course let you know. In the meanwhile—"

Sirius interrupted then, his voice low and controlled, but his expression fuming. "In the meanwhile, someone's deliberately put Harry's life in danger, and there's nothing we can bloody do about it."

"That's not entirely accurate." Dumbledore removed his spectacles and rubbed at his temple in a rare show of weariness. "We can assist Harry and keep a close watch on him. The boy is frightfully independent, but he seems to recognize the danger here, I'm sure he'll be cautious."

Lucius looked thoughtful a moment before nodding. "We have a house elf that is inordinately fond of Harry; I'd like to bring him here. He can, at the very least, keep an eye on Harry, and perhaps help him prepare for the challenges."

The Headmaster nodded his acquiescence, so Lucius summoned Dobby and briefly explained his duties. The elf was positively thrilled, and cheerfully popped away to Harry's side, still wandering the corridors with Draco.

Sirius regarded the place the elf had occupied with a small, amused smirk. "He's an odd fellow, isn't he?"

Lucius matched Sirius' smirk with his own sardonic smile. "Quite, but there isn't a being on earth more devoted to Harry."

"And that _is_ saying something, isn't it, gentlemen?" Albus smiled softly at the two men, as different in bearing as could be, but so similar in their fierce dedication to their young charge.

_February 24, 1995_

Harry breached the surface of the lake, gasping in great heaving breaths of frigid air while scanning the waves frantically for a couple heads of wet, blond hair. He spotted them near the platform and started swimming, watching Draco patiently tow the young girl to her hysterical sister. When he finally reached the docks, he was pulled up onto them by no less than a dozen reaching, congratulatory hands, all of which were unceremoniously knocked aside as Draco threw a thick blanket over his shoulders.

"You b-bloody idiot! C-can't believe you agr-greed to this."

Draco spread his slightly blue lips in a self-satisfied smirk while his hands rubbed quickly up and down Harry's arms in attempt to warm him up faster. "You know me, never decline the opportunity to be the center of attention."

"But you could have died!"

Draco rolled his eyes skyward. "Honestly Harry, you're so bloody gullible. No one was going to _die_, you great prat. Do you honestly think Dumbledore would have allowed that?"

Harry's shoulders drooped as realization dawned. No, of course Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen. Why had he not thought of that before? He'd been completely panicked once he realized what (or rather who) had been taken.

Draco laughed at Harry's dejected expression and combed his fingers through his dark hair, flinging away icy drops of lake water. "So tell me; better or worse than the dragon?"

Harry shuddered delicately. "Worse. At least with the dragon, it was just me in danger."

Draco preened under the comment, smoothing his drying locks back dramatically. "It's alright, you don't have to say it. I know you couldn't bear the thought of going on without me."

Harry scoffed. "Well not _you_ so much, but Hermione was down there! It's a lucky thing Krum turned up, or I'd have had to leave you to the mermaids and get her to safety."

Harry fought to keep his face neutral as Draco's jaw dropped in mock hurt. He capped it off with a playful shove, but a hint of something dark lingered in his eyes.

"Does it bother you? You know, that Hermione was Krum's 'thing he'd miss most.'"

"You mean does it bother me that one of my best friends has a world famous seeker pining after her? Of course not, I think it's brilliant! I mean, he's bloody _Krum_, and what's more, I think it's really nice for her that someone's finally taken notice of how great she is."

Draco smiled at that, the trouble seeming to clear from his expression. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think most blokes are too intimidated, either because she's so smart or because she and I are so close. Lots of guys have thought I had something with her."

Draco dropped his head, studying his fingers as they toyed with the frayed hem of the blanket draped round his shoulders. "Have you ever thought about it? You know, with Granger?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, she's like my sister, I guess. I just don't think of her that way."

Draco raised his head to look out over the water, his expression far away and sad somehow. "Like me."

"Well, no. Not really." At Draco's inquisitive look, Harry continued, "I just mean that most brothers, well, they don't really like each other a lot of the time, and I do. Like you, that is. You're more like…my best mate. Who I happen to live with. It's dead convenient, really."

Harry looked up to see that Draco was smiling again, a secret, hopeful sort of smile that Harry could easily interpret to fuel his own secret, hopeful sort of thoughts, but that was a dangerous path to tread indeed. So instead, he pulled himself to his feet, and then Draco, and lead him over to where the other champions were congregated, waiting for the scores.

oOo

Albus Dumbledore cast a silent sensing spell out over the tremendous piles of discarded contraband, occasionally receiving a flicker of strong magic here and there, but nothing thus far to indicate anything of note. He continued down winding isles lined with broken furniture, ancient artifacts and hidden treasures, his soul alight with the excitement of discovery. What glorious secrets this old castle held! More than a hundred years after first walking its hallowed halls, and he had still not discovered them all.

He continued on, wand sweeping in wide arcs as he continually cast the charm around the cavernous room. He mentally went through the list of horcruxes, again and again, needing to be certain.

_The diary, Marvolo's ring, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, all destroyed with fiendfyre by his own hand. That leaves Ravenclaw's artifact (and how helpful her daughter had been, all those years spent roaming these halls containing such useful information), and possibly another…the snake, perhaps, from Harry's dreams? And then, the last. But no, he could still be wrong, it might not be the boy…_

A sudden burst of energy, an indication of incredible magic, lit the air ahead, and he moved forward quickly now with renewed purpose. The pulse of light glowed around a clump of items, at the center of which lay an old and tarnished tiara.

_Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._

Dumbledore's blue eyes glowed triumphantly as he read the delicate inscription.

"Indeed."

_June 24, 1995_

Lucius sat stiffly in the stands erected outside the great hedge maze that now covered the quidditch pitch. Narcissa sat to his left, pale and breathless, with her delicate hands clamped tightly around his own. To his right, Sirius twitched with nervous energy, calming only at the occasional word from Remus Lupin, who remained the very picture of calm and collected on Sirius' other side.

Seated on the row directly below them, Draco huddled close to the muggleborn Granger girl, anxiously whispering back and forth while trading worried glances. The stands all around them, however, were filled with boisterous, excited witches and wizards, students, teachers, parents and reporters, all high on the thrill of the final challenge.

A sudden cheer from behind them caused Narcissa to jump, and then lean in closer to Lucius. "Where _is_ he? It's been so long, what if something's happened?"

Lucius looked from Narcissa's pale face to Sirius and Lupin, both of whom had their attention trained on him at Narcissa's inquiry.

"If something had happened, we'd know it." Lucius rubbed absently at his left forearm, where, hidden beneath his black robes, the Dark Mark now stood out in starkest black. The image was fully reformed, but no summons had yet been made. He cast his eyes down to the maze entrance where Severus Snape stood watch. Their gazes locked, a silent communiqué passed between them, and Snape nodded his head ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, in a cemetery outside Little Hangleton, the last ingredient—a vial of stolen blood—was being added to a roiling, noxious potion, and a Dark Lord was reborn.

oOo

Too stunned to struggle against his bonds, too shocked, frozen with fear and pain and grief (Cedric, oh god _Cedric_), Harry watched Tom Marvolo Riddle examine his new form. He flexed long, thin fingers, smoothed sickly white skin, all the while wearing a viciously pleased smile.

The snake Nagini reappeared, twining itself around the base of the headstone where Harry was tied, cold, dry scales scraping against his ankles while the animal focused its black gaze on the face of its master.

Wormtail—the traitor—was whimpering, begging something of his resurrected Lord, but Harry could not focus on the words, so clouded was his mind with terror. The situation seemed truly hopeless, with Harry immobilized, wandless, and at the mercy of a murderous lunatic. No one could possibly know where he was—he didn't even know himself. And again, the beast was _talking_, always talking, that high, cold voice so grating to the mind and soul, and Harry just wanted to scream, to shout "Shut up, SHUT UP" until it stopped, but with the gag in place, he couldn't even do that.

And then, Voldemort was stooping, taking Wormtail's arm, exposing the mark (so strange that Harry should have no fear of it, having seen the shadow of it on his father's arm all these years), and then Harry understood; Voldemort was summoning the Death Eaters. Lucius, Lucius would come. This new thought was both a joy and a horror, as Harry struggled between wanting to be saved and wanting his father safe.

Hooded figures whipped into the clearing, wordlessly forming a large circle with Harry at the center. Harry frantically scanned their faces, but each was masked, hidden from view, and none came forward. Voldemort began to speak again, just as the last bit of hope extinguished in Harry's chest.

And then Voldemort's attention was back on him, those red, snake-like eyes staring down on him. Harry struggled to focus, to listen to Riddle's rant, the details of his return, but the pain in his scar was almost as distracting as his fear, and he found his mind spinning out of control until a hissed _Crucio_ set his bones aflame, filled his veins with acid until he thought surely (please) he would be dead.

The curse lifted, and the clearing echoed with the forced, nervous laughter of the hooded figures around him. All of a sudden, Harry's bonds released him and he tumbled to the ground. His wand was shoved at him by a pale and shaking Wormtail, who quickly retreated to his place in the circle.

Voldemort stood alone at the center of the circle, watching with barely controlled excitement as Harry struggled to his feet. "You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?"

Harry thought back to private lessons, first with Lucius, then later with Lupin and Sirius, and, gathering as much dignity as he could muster, drew himself up into the proper stance, wand held at the ready. A ripple of laughter ran through the circle, while Riddle's red eyes glinted madly.

Recalling his father's haughty smile, Harry reenacted the mocking bow Lucius taught him first year, his face a mask straight out of his memories of Sirius, all calm arrogance and condescension, his grip on his wand tight and controlled, just as Lupin showed him. He recalled his occlumency lessons with Severus and closed his mind, numbing his panic and gathering control.

"A proper wizard bows before his opponent, Riddle, but I guess your muggle father never taught you that, did he?" Harry heard his own voice in his head through Draco's antagonistic drawl, feeling a comforting warmth spread in his chest at the imagined sound of it.

The mocking laughter died instantly amongst the surrounding Death Eaters, and Voldemort's face contorted with rage. His arm whipped out lightning fast, blasting another _crucio_ Harry's way, which he just deflected with a quick _protego _and an even quicker dodge to the side. The deflected curse hit the massive headstone, cracking it down the middle in a shower of sparks and flying marble.

Harry raised his wand, prepared to shield and dodge again, when a shout rang out behind him, and a wall of flame rose up and spread, circling around the clearing, separating Harry and Voldemort from the ring of Death Eaters. Just before the flames closed them in, Lucius stepped within the circle, eyes flashing and wand raised, directing the enchanted flames around them. 

Leaping chimeras, dragons and snakes danced in the roaring flames, beyond which Harry could just make out the faces of Sirius, Lupin and Severus as they fought the hooded Death Eaters. A piercing scream rang out as the flames leapt upon and consumed a masked man, but Harry's focus was already back on Voldemort and Lucius, who were now circling one another like pythons preparing to strike.

"Lucius…once my most trusted servant. What is this treachery?" Voldemort's stare was calculating, shock and anger roiling beneath his cold exterior.

Lucius paced ever so slightly to the side, moving himself closer to Harry, trying to put himself between the boy and the monster. "You're finished here, Riddle. You should have learnt the first time, you should have stayed away from him. You should have stayed _dead_."

Voldemort let out a low hiss, "Even death has no dominion over me, surely you must realize that."

Lucius arched a mocking eyebrow, "No?" And then he whipped his wand out over the tall grasses beyond the broken headstone and (with a hiss and a cry of fear and pain that Harry knew only he and Voldemort would understand) the massive, supine body of Nagini jerked into the air and back into the waiting jaw-like flames of the cursed fire around them.

Voldemort let out a shriek of helpless rage as he watched the flames consume the reptile with unnatural speed, until all that was left was ashes and blackened fangs. He then turned on Lucius, raised his wand and lashed out, fast as a cobra's strike, the killing curse a prayer on his lips.

Harry saw it happen, felt time slow down, and without a thought beyond a painful, resounding _NO_, he lunged.

oOo

Lucius caught Harry as he fell, stricken down with that hated green flash. Across the clearing, Tom Marvolo Riddle crumpled into a heap, forgotten.

Lucius' heart thudded painfully in his chest, the heat from the flames drawing thick drops of adrenaline and fear-laced sweat that matted his fine, blond hair to his brow. He clutched Harry to him, dropping down to his knees in the dew-wet grass, deaf to the continued shouts around them.

"Harry, Harry Harry…open your eyes, Harry! Wake up _now_, Harry, come back…OPEN YOUR EYES!" He shook Harry's shoulders, still small for his age, still so small, so young…

Lucius clutched Harry to him and saw his wife's face, pinched and cold and oh so very distant, just as she'd been in the days of the first war. He saw Draco, alone in that enormous house, brooding and resentful and so very lonely. And he saw himself, a cold, empty shell of a man on his knees before an inhuman madman, swearing his life away for an idea that meant less, he knew, than the dirt beneath his robes. He saw a whole life, a wretched fate avoided with the guidance of the boy now limp in his arms.

He hardly noticed as the flames died down around him, couldn't focus on the frantic questions from Sirius as he, Lupin and Snape gathered close. The remaining Death Eaters (those who hadn't fled or died) lay chained in an unconscious heap beyond the wide, charred ring around them.

It was Snape's never-wavering calm that finally broke him out of his daze, as the man gently pried Harry out of his arms and cast silent spells over his crumpled form. "He's not…I don't understand it, but…"

"Harry?" Sirius choked out, laying a dirtied and bloodied palm over the boy's brow.

Harry gave a minute twitch, a flutter of heavy lids and a low moan. Lucius' heart caught in his throat as emerald green eyes opened at last, finding and locking on his own troubled grey.

"Where is he?"

The four men raised their heads as one, followed by their wands as Tom Riddle struggled to raise himself from the ground some dozen feet away. As one they rose, pulling Harry to his feet and supporting him from all sides.

"It was me." Harry said, his voice low. "I…when I was gone, I saw my parents, and they told me. I was the last horcrux, one he never intended to make."

"Harry…" Lupin placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's gone, now. That…" Harry pointed across the clearing, where Riddle had finally struggled to his feet, his face a mask of absolute terror. "Is all that's left of Tom Riddle."

Lucius looked to Snape, to Lupin and Sirius, then back at Voldemort. Together, they raised their wands. Harry curled into Lucius' side as four blasts of green light lit up the empty graveyard, and Tom Riddle fell for the last time.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello there, readers! For those of you still following, be warned that from here on out, the focus will mainly be on the relationship between Harry & Draco. If this squicks you out, by all means, please stop reading. The upcoming chapters may be a bit shorter than usual, more like little ficlets depicting important moments between the boys.**

**Oh, and I got my first flame! It was anonymous and everything! You have no idea how much this pleased me; excited clapping and bouncing may have occurred. As for this Alex person, the joke's on you, buddy! Not only am I not sterile, I actually have two sons. Of course, my parenting methods have no relation whatsoever to my taste in fanfiction, just as I'm sure my favorite fic authors don't fly around on thestrals battling dark wizards. Grow up, calm down, and feel free to contact me with a valid account if you feel the need to continue your absurd little rant. Kisses!**

**Warning: Slash. Don't bother telling me this story shouldn't be H/D, because it is. End of story. **

_July 31__st__, 1995 _

Harry looked around the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, taking in the small space filled to bursting with familiar faces. Sirius stood with Remus by the fire, leaning casually against each other while Dumbledore spoke animatedly across from them. Narcissa sat next to her no-longer estranged sister, Andromeda, at the long dining table, clutching each other's hands and conversing in soft tones meant only for their ears. Lucius filled Severus' glass with Cognac, his low, baritone laugh resonating off the stone walls at Snape's sarcastic wit. Hermione chatted up Andromeda's husband and metamorphmagus daughter, wearing a brilliant smile that spoke of new and here-to-for unanticipated information. Draco sat across from Harry, watching him closely with quiet, eager eyes and a small, contented smile. The remnants of Harry's birthday cake sat on the table between them, his image darting in and out of view on the enchanted frosting, racing along on his firebolt.

He was jostled out of his contemplation of animated frosting as Sirius sat on the bench next to him, clapping a hearty hand on his back. His godfather's face split in an easy smile, showcasing the famed Black good looks, now fully recovered from his Azkaban days.

"Well, Harry, you've had quite a year. You've conquered the Tri-Wizard Tournament _and_ an evil, raving lunatic of a dark wizard. What are you going to do now?"

Harry smiled at the teasing, game show host quality to Sirius' voice, but shook his head blankly. "Haven't the foggiest, Sirius."

"Well that should be obvious," Nymphadora—or Tonks, if you don't want to face the business end of her wand—interjected, taking a seat next to Draco. "He's on to life's next great hurtle: dating. How's your love life, Harry?"

Harry blushed to the tips of his ears, while Narcissa edged her way closer on the bench. "Oh come now, he's only 15! Still a bit early for all that, don't you think?"

Andromeda laughed softly. "I don't know, Cissa, weren't you 15 when you started seeing Lucius?" Narcissa cleared her throat delicately and took a sip from her wine glass.

"How about it, Harry?" Remus asked, settling on his other side. "Got anyone special in mind?" His amber eyes darted to Hermione, but she was watching Draco and chewing anxiously on her thumbnail. Remus looked down to find the blond boy studiously scowling at the table top. Remus' eyebrows raised speculatively, his clever mind putting together countless clues and hints from the last two years.

"Er…" Harry coughed, eyes nervously darting about the room.

"Have you had your first kiss, yet? I was 15 when I had mine." Tonks added, causing her father to fidget uncomfortably next to her.

Suddenly Harry felt every eye in the room trained on him, waiting for an answer. "Um…no. I haven't." His eyes suddenly drifted across to Draco, who was staring intently back at him, a strange, determined sort of look on his face.

Narcissa moved to stand behind him, placing a small, manicured hand on his shoulder. "Well, no need to worry, dear. You've plenty of time for all of that, best not to rush it." He felt his blush intensify as she leaned in to place a kiss at the top of his head.

"Right. I'm just going to…er…bathroom." And then he darted from the room like a bat out of a nauseatingly embarrassing hell.

A few good-natured laughs rang out, but conversations soon picked back up, and only Remus and Hermione noticed Draco slipping out after him. They looked to one another, shared a smile of understanding, and said nothing.

Draco found Harry in front of the fire in the first floor drawing room, his favorite room in the old townhouse. Harry looked up as he entered, sending a sheepish smile his way before turning back to watch the flames.

"That was…"

"Awkward? Embarrassing? The stuff nightmares are made of?"

Draco smirked. "I was going to say uncomfortable, but yes." He moved closer, leaning against an old leather armchair near the floo.

Harry huffed out a nervous laugh, hand raking through his unruly hair. "Have you…you know. Kissed anyone?"

Draco nodded, eyes trained on the floor. "Parkinson."

Harry's immediate response was disgust, followed closely by deep, burning jealousy. Some of that must have shown on his face, the disgust at least, because Draco began to fidget guiltily.

"It's not that big a deal. It's just kissing."

"Right." Harry nodded, trying to will away the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

Harry rolled his eyes, turning his back on Draco so he'd only have to curb the hurt in his voice and not in his expression. "What was it like?"

"I don't know, it was…just kissing. You know." Draco sounded horribly uncomfortable, and Harry knew an uncomfortable Draco was a harsh and biting Draco, but he couldn't convince himself to let it drop.

"No, obviously I _don't_ know. Although, I guess I could just grab the first slag I see and find out for myself, couldn't I? I mean, it's just kissing, it's not like it means anything."

"Harry…"

"Whatever. I'm going back downstairs." But he only made it to the door before Draco caught up with him, turning him with a vice-like grip on his arm and pushing him up against the wall.

Harry's startled green eyes looked up into flashing gray for just the briefest of moments, and then Draco gripped the side of his neck and moved in, pressing his mouth against Harry's roughly. Harry pushed Draco, but the blond boy pushed right back, pressing his body flush against Harry's and then dragging his tongue along the tight seam of Harry's lips. They parted, more on instinct than anything, and Draco's serpentine tongue pushed in, stroking and curling in mind-melting rhythm.

Harry relaxed into the kiss, hand fisting in the front of Draco's jumper, keeping just enough space between the two of them to prevent Draco from feeling his burgeoning erection. Harry was now fully participating in the kiss, mimicking Draco's movements and improvising, sucking Draco's bottom lip into his mouth and dragging his teeth against it, eliciting a small whimper from the blond.

After a few, long moments, Draco pulled back, silver eyes hooded, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. "See?" He croaked, voice rough and low.

Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to see. If Draco had been trying to illustrate his point that kissing was "no big deal," then he'd failed spectacularly. Harry was fairly sure what had just happened between them was, in fact, a very, very big deal. He shook his head slowly, confusion apparent in his wide, green eyes.

Draco's shoulders sagged a little, his eyes dropping to Harry's wrinkled shirt front. "Happy birthday, Harry." He whispered, and then left, melting into the shadows of the hallway.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Do I really have to say it? _Again?_ Come on! Fine. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not profiting in any way from the use of these characters/themes.

**A/N: Draco Malfoy was a trending topic on twitter today (yay alliteration), so I figured it was the internet's way of telling me to update something. The only warning for this chapter is a bit of angst (inevitable, really).**

_September 8, 1995_

Harry was, in a word, miserable.

One week into his fifth year, and the whispers still hadn't died down. Despite the near-exhaustive coverage by the Daily Prophet, despite numerous press conferences and public statements, it still seemed that all anyone could talk about was Voldemort.

Between Harry's involvement in the whole ordeal (as well as a close relation to every other person instrumental in Voldemort's downfall) and his half-victory in the Triwizard Tournament, he was more popular than ever. Everywhere he turned, people were kissing his arse, desperate to befriend the Boy Who Triumphed (a name no one would drop, no matter how many times Harry insisted he bore no responsibility for killing Voldemort).

Some daft bint in fourth year even tried to slip him a love potion in a bunch of chocolate cauldrons. Luckily, Hermione threw them out before Harry ate any. The last thing he needed was to be mindlessly pining over some psychotic fourteen year old, he thought with a shudder.

And, to top it all off, things with Draco had been strained at best since Harry's birthday at Grimmauld Place. Neither boy ever mentioned 'the incident' to anyone, although Harry had caught a few knowing looks from Hermione afterward. The whole thing had grown into this great massive beast, lurking over their heads and making everything hopelessly awkward between them. Draco responded to the tension with his standard brand of cold distance, leaving Harry not only confused, but alone as well. He'd been relieved, for once, to be back in Gryffindor tower, but that relief quickly turned to annoyance at his housemates' relentless fawning.

He began retreating into himself more and more as the year progressed. He spent most of his free time with Hermione, reading by the lake, studying in the library or even just laughing and playing games in the room of requirement. He'd been ecstatic when Dobby first showed him the room, thinking he'd found himself a safe haven at last. He hadn't counted on Dobby sharing the knowledge with Draco, as well.

He was talking quietly with Hermione, walking arm in arm along the seventh floor corridor when they heard a shriek. They both started forward, wands drawn, but relaxed at the string of shrill giggles that followed. They rounded the corner to find Pansy Parkinson, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, playfully swatting at an equally disheveled Draco. Just behind them, a great wooden door was melting back into the stone wall around it.

Draco let out a growl, moving in to grab the petite brunette, when Pansy caught sight of Harry and Hermione, her hand flying up to cover her mouth with a small "Oh." Draco's gaze soon followed hers, the mirth dying in his eyes when they locked onto Harry's. Harry felt his stomach plummet down into his shoes as Draco straightened, swallowing heavily.

Pansy, oblivious to the tension, raised her hand in a girly wave, smiling coquettishly at Harry. "Hello Harry, don't you look the dashing hero today?" Her dark eyes traveled to Hermione, whose arm was now wrapped protectively around Harry's waist. Her smile twisted into something derisive and hateful as she acknowledged her with a terse, "Granger."

Hermione responded with a condescending toss of her head before turning to Harry, tugging at his jumper, pulling him to face her. "Let's go somewhere else, Harry. It's nice out, we could visit Hagrid, or maybe go out to the shrieking shack? What do you say?"

Harry could read the sympathy in her eyes, and was grateful for it. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded, curling an arm around her shoulders and turning them both. They heard Draco call out to their retreating forms, but with a slight shake of his head, continued forward, leaving Draco to look forlornly at their retreating backs.

They didn't stop until they'd reached the lake, at which point Harry slumped down against a large rock, staring blankly out over the water as Hermione sat down beside him.

"I feel like such an idiot."

"Oh Harry," Hermione responded, her hand finding his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're not an idiot. If anyone's an idiot here it's Draco. I mean _Pansy_? _Really_? Ew."

Harry's lips quirked into a humorless smile. "He doesn't seem to find her so disgusting."

"She's easy, that's all. Most boys can't help themselves with girls like that—they throw themselves at them and they don't even think to resist."

Harry nodded. "Most boys. Normal boys."

"You're perfectly normal, Harry."

He leveled an incredulous look at her, at which she blushed slightly and looked away.

"Okay, maybe not normal. Better than normal. Exceptional."

He shook his head but said nothing, his chest filled with the cold, alien feeling he so often felt these days, always singled out, followed by stares and whispers, constantly watched, judged. He hated it. He looked to Hermione and found her looking sadly out over the water, eyes misty and seemingly on the verge of tears. He knew she worried about him, knew his own misery was infecting her like a cancer, dragging her down with him, and he hated himself for it.

He resolved himself to fix it, somehow. Maybe he couldn't be happy, couldn't have what—_who_—he wanted, but she didn't have to suffer for it. Fixing what he hoped to be a casual-looking smile on his face, he nudged her gently with his shoulder.

"What about you? Got your eye on anyone special, or are you still missing Krum?"

Hermione let out a soft sigh. "We still write each other, but it feels more like friendship than romance, you know?"

Harry nodded. "Is there anyone else, then?"

"Well…er…" Hermione looked away, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

"There is! Come on, tell me! You know I can keep a secret." Hermione bit down on her lower lip and shook her head briefly. "I'll just have to guess then, won't I?"

"Harry…"

"Is he in Gryffindor?" Hermione shrugged, but Harry continued on, watching her expression closely for clues. She was a terrible liar. "Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? Slytherin?" Her eyes darted to his anxiously and his jaw dropped. "A _Slytherin_, Hermione? Ooh, this is getting good…is he in our year?"

"Harry, really, it doesn't—"

"Oh wait, I've got it…" Of course, why hadn't he seen it before? "Theo!" Nott was quiet, studious, and a bit awkward socially. Perfect for Hermione.

She buried her face in her hands with a pained moan, mumbling "He doesn't even know I'm alive" into her palms.

"Of course he does, don't be ridiculous. You're smart, beautiful, and best friends with the Boy Who Triumphed. Everyone knows who you are." He smiled warmly at her pained groan. "Honestly, though, you two are kind of perfect for each other. I'm sure if it weren't for house rivalries, you'd have been hanging out years ago."

Hermione finally lowered her hands, revealing a violent blush that covered her cheeks. "I don't understand why they continue with the houses the way they do—it only serves to spread enmity amongst the students."

Harry nodded absently, an idea niggling at the corners of his mind. "We should, I dunno, do something about it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, bring people together."

"Interhouse unification?"

"Yeah, that."

"How?"

"Erm…"

Hermione jerked forward, eyes shining. "I've got it! We can start hosting interyear, interhouse parties in the room of requirement! You're so popular now, I'm sure everyone would come, and maybe we could have games or something to get people mingling and talking to each other!"

Harry thought about it. It could work. It could also fail spectacularly, but the excitement shining in Hermione's eyes made it worth the risk. "Yeah, let's do it."

She flashed him a brilliant smile before fishing some parchment and a quill out of her bag, and quickly rambling off a list of supplies and people to petition for help. Harry watched her go into planning mode, feeling pleased with himself for both lifting her bad mood and managing to think of anything that wasn't Draco for the last five minutes. Maybe there was hope for fifth year after all.

_October 1__st__, 1995_

Harry stood with Hermione at the entrance to the room of requirement, looking out at the large crowd of students gathered in the wide, accommodating space. The room had provided several large clumps of comfortable seating along one end of the room, nearest the huge, roaring fire, and along a wall lined with enormous windows were tables for billiards and ping pong, as well as several large card tables. They'd set up drinks and food at the back of the room, provided by an eager to please Dobby and his friends in the kitchens, while the middle space was mostly clear for dancing or roaming about. A wizarding radio played loud, boisterous music, while hovering paper lanterns cast multi-colored lights over the crowds below.

Everything was perfect…except, of course, for the bloody students.

People gathered in tight clumps, divided by age and house, casting awkward glances at the people around them whilst talking amongst themselves. No interhouse mingling, no unification.

Harry straightened his shoulders and gave Hermione a decisive nod before taking her hand and leading her out into the middle of the room. Along their way, Harry caught the arm of Luna Lovegood, towing her as well. As they neared a group of Slytherin boys, Harry called out "Hey, Theo!" motioning the tall, sandy-haired boy over.

Now standing in the center of the room, beneath a clump of brightly colored lanterns, he turned to Theo. "Theo, you know Hermione..." Theo gave a shy nod to Hermione, which she returned with a blush and a small wave. Harry smiled and continued. "Hermione loves reading, but hates flying. Theo broke his leg the one time Draco talked him into sitting a broom and spent the rest of his stay camped out in Father's library. Dance." He gave Hermione a little push forward, and Theo caught her instinctively, leaving his hands at her waist while she lifted hers to his shoulders and they began the awkward sway that made up 90% of teenage dancing.

Harry gave Hermione a thumbs up behind Theo's back, and then turned to Luna, catching her hand and giving her a dramatic spin. She laughed lightly and moved easily into a free-style dance that quickly drew the attention of the students around them. Slowly, in twos and threes, the spaces around them filled with dancing and light-hearted laughter. Most of the couples were strictly same-house, but here and there a daring Gryffindor would catch the arm of a shy Hufflepuff, a reserved Ravenclaw, and pull them into the mix. The Slytherins, predictably, were the hardest nuts to crack, but showed promise as Millicent Bulstrode shocked all by pulling Neville Longbottom, of all people, into a clumsy spin.

Harry looked to Hermione to share a grin of triumph, but found her smiling coyly up at a blushing Theo. Turning Luna in a wide arc, Harry caught sight of a familiar shock of blond hair hovering at the edge of the crowd. Draco quirked his lips in a conspiratorial smirk and mouthed "Well done," before his attention was diverted by Pansy's insistent tugging at his side. Harry's gut clenched uncomfortably, but even seeing the dark-haired girl hanging on Draco's arm was easier, less painful than it'd been before. Pushing the image from his mind, he focused once more on the group of friends dancing around him, all care-free smiles and youth and promise.


End file.
